


Carnal desires of man

by Casimir



Category: Persona 5
Genre: And then eating him, Bottom!Akira, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty talk but it’s about murder, Dirty thoughts about murder, Eldritch being Akira, Gore, Guro, Hunting down your crush’s cognitive self because you can’t handle your feelings, M/M, Oh my god I’m serious don’t read this if you can’t handle guro, Top!Goro, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casimir/pseuds/Casimir
Summary: It goes south, at least for Akira, when Goro slides into the Palace on his own. Neither of them know the other is there, until he catches Akira dashing down the casino corridor— chasing a cognitive version of himself in a fucking bunny girl suit of all things. Akira doesn’t see him at first. There’s only the scent of blood in his nose and the pounding of his heart in his chest.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	Carnal desires of man

**Author's Note:**

> Getting back to my murder-fucking roots! :D
> 
> Big shout out to the 21+ server for all those eye emojis, they literally feed me you have no idea

The blood is thick and cloying underneath his claws. It sticks, heavy and decadent to his skin. The body underneath him gasps and rattles as the blood settles in it’s lungs through the puncture wound he’d made. Akira licks his lips. It smears across his chin, one long red line that stands out like a brand on his skin. He’s so hungry. It consumes him, bubbles in his stomach and tears through his mind until there’s nothing left but the devouring hunger and lust.

And  _ oh  _ is there lust. For blood, for flesh, for the other man sitting against the metal wall across from him with his hand in his pants. There’s a salty smell in the air, along with the blood. Salty and musky. Sweat and cum and blood. Akira’s smile is loose and easy as he dips his head back down to the body underneath him. His sharp teeth take a bite from a fleshy part around the limp arm. When he pulls away, the muscle rips and tears in strings.

There’s another gush of blood underneath him when Akira puts his hand straight through the chest cavity. He leans forwards to press a red smeared kiss to Goro’s lips. He matches it, bite for bite.

When Akira pulls away Goro’s already cum in his tight, pretty boy underwear. The white and gold and red of his Metaverse outfit is stained through to his skin with the pools of blood underneath them. It’s his own blood, technically. The clanging metal of Shido’s ship surrounds them with hissing steam and distant claxons. Akira grabs at his own cock through his leather pants, leaving a wet handprint, as the cognitive version of Goro convulses and dies underneath him.

_ Some time prior… _

Of course Akira knows Shido has a palace. As soon as he’d figured out that Shido is the man that put him in detention, he’d plugged his name into the MetaNav. Masayoshi Shido. Hit found. Easy. The problem is the rest of his keywords, something that he spends a few days deliberating on while the Thieves plan to trick Goro. He follows them through Sae’s Palace with a fascinated smile and plenty of pleasant commentary on all the weird Metaverse bullshit going on around them.

It goes south, at least for Akira, when Goro slides into the Palace on his own. Neither of them know the other is there, until he catches Akira dashing down the casino corridor— chasing a cognitive version of himself in a fucking bunny girl suit of all things. Akira doesn’t see him at first. There’s only the scent of blood in his nose and the pounding of his heart in his chest. He’s already taken a bite out of the fake Goro’s arm and it’s bleeding freely. He’s making some kind of plaintive wailing noise, like a dying animal as Akira backs him up against a slot machine. There’s tears dribbling down his face as he clutches his arm. Goro can’t stand to see him so pathetic.

“Is this really what Sae-san thinks of me?” He asks, pistol in his left hand instead of the ray gun he usually uses. A single, well placed bullet is all it takes to shatter the cognition before them.

When Akira turns around he doesn’t quite look the same. Long, vicious teeth. Pointed ears. His form shivers and shakes as if it wants to burst at the seams and become something new.

“You got in the way of my hunt, Akechi.” Akira says.

When he blinks, the man is back to normal. The only trace of what just happened is the trickles of blood coming from the corner of Akira’s lips. 

“My apologies. I just couldn’t stand to see myself looking like such a pathetic creature.”

“I think Sae sees you as just a pretty face. Like you only got as far as you have for your looks.” Akira is stalking closer as he speaks, but Goro doesn’t move. He’s not going to back down for some creepy weirdo in the Metaverse. There are plenty of those out there.

“What are you?” He asks finally, with Akira face to face with him. “Some kind of Metaverse vampire? I know I’m new at all of this but—“

“Don’t lie to me, Akechi.” Akira’s tongue licks away the beads of red that initially escaped him. “You stink of the Metaverse. You always have.”

“And what of it?” Loki burns at the back of Goro’s mind, itching to be called. All it takes is a second.

“I could eat you alive, like I was going to do to your poor other self.”

”So what? Answer my question, Kurusu.” He has no doubt that the other man would do it after seeing the animal way that Akira had chased down the cognition.

“I can’t. I don’t know  _ exactly  _ what I am. I’m not a vampire though,” Akira laughs. 

He pushes his hands in his pockets, body language curling in on himself as he slouches away. Akira looks more human like this, Goro thinks. Even in the Joker garb with the three panels of his jacket swishing through the air behind him. Goro somehow expects the revelation of his inhumanity to change what he looks like in the Metaverse— maybe a tail, or horns, or tentacles— but it’s not forthcoming. He wonders if  _ Joker  _ is the change.

Goro follows behind him at a distance. The Shadows keep away from the two of them, put off by the way he hisses like a snake when one of them gets too close. Akira seems to be traveling with a goal in mind. One that isn’t the treasure at least. He stops inside an area that looks like a lounge, with low set couches along the walls and low lighting. Goro stands next to him in the doorway. It takes a little while for a cognition to reform. When it does, it’s with a splatter of black ink and the weird smoke-like liquid that bursts from the floor of the Metaverse. The bunny version of Goro stands before them looking no worse for the wear. He wonders if it remembers what just happened to it.

When Joker fucking  _ growls  _ Goro has to stare at him in shock. It’s a carefully schooled shock, just a single raise of his eyebrow, because surprise is basically a sign of weakness—

But Joker pays it no mind, launching himself at the other Goro like a bullet. His clawed hands— when they had become bright red claws, Goro didn’t know but he can see them as clear as Joker’s own gloves— snatch at the perky white ears sticking from his head. The cognitive Goro ducks, narrowly dodging out of the way and scrambles forwards across the floor like a coward. There’s terror in his eyes. In the way his chest heaves for breath despite only having just started  _ running. _

Goro locks the doors behind them. He moves into the room to get a good seat on the couch, one leg slung over the other with his arms across the back. The very picture of a nonchalance he doesn’t feel. Joker bares down on the bunny Goro. Another swipe of his claws tears fishnets and flesh as if they’re the same thing, which makes the cognition cry out in pain. Joker ignores it all. He swipes his tongue across the gore coating his claws and lurches forwards as if he’s going to attack again— it makes the other one curl up into a pitiful ball and whimper. Tears track through the makeup on his face, blurring mascara and eyeliner and foundation in messy streaks.

“Disgusting.” Goro says with a sneer pulling at his lips. If Joker is going to bare the hidden parts of himself, then he figures he might as well too. He realizes that they’ve always been the same when Joker starts to laugh. “Just finish him off, if he can’t be bothered to run.”

“You’re right. It’s more fun when they run.” Joker’s powerful hands pull the fake Goro’s arms away from where they’re protecting his face. He slips into a plastic smile that would look more at home on Goro’s own face. “This is going to hurt a whole lot.”

Goro gets to see what it would look like if his arms were torn from his sockets.

It probably shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

He wonders if it says something about him.

Joker turns to him with a more natural smile as the cognition breaks and disappears into nothingness. His eyes dart to the press of Goro’s dick against the pure white fabric of his uniform. Slowly, Joker stalks forwards. The click of the safety of Goro’s gun is what stops him for a moment. Despite being threatened by what Goro knows is a very real gun— he’s sure Joker knows it is too. There’s something different about them. Something heavy— Joker moves closer and closer until the barrel is pressed against his forehead.

“Go on.” He says, leaning into the cold metal. “Shoot me. Maybe it’ll stick.”

“It hasn’t before?”

“Nope.” Joker’s lips pluck the sound from the English word. He grabs Goro’s hand, keeping the gun in place while he slides into place on Goro’s lap. “I’ve tried, trust me.”

Goro’s eyes narrow. The safety’s already off of the gun, his finger ready to slide into the trigger at any moment. Joker seems confident but Goro isn’t sure whether or not that confidence is in him  _ not  _ shooting him or surviving the shot in the first place. If Joker dies here, it puts a small wrench in his plans— not too much of one though, Joker is meant to die anyway. If he can’t die, however, that’s a much bigger issue than whether or not he’s trying to eat cognitive beings.

“Do it.”

The gun jerks in his hands. Blood sprays across the floor behind Joker in a wide arc as his body tips backwards off of Goro’s lap. It's as black as ichor. The light in his eyes is gone instantly. Goro’s sure it’s the end. He stands, extracting himself from Joker’s limp legs and dusts himself off. There’s a smell of burning flesh in the air from the entry wound. Goro bows to the body mockingly. It’s no longer Joker, no longer Akira. Just another corpse in the trail of them that he’s left behind. He puts the gun away in his breast pocket before moving away. The cognitive Goro will be reforming any second and he really really doesn’t want to be around for his reaction to the dead body.

He’s about to unlock the door when he hears a groan. There hasn’t been the tell-tale sound of the cognition clawing it’s way out of whatever hell they come from. No disgusting squelch of black ink. Then Joker stands from his dead slump and Goro softly bangs his head against the door to the rest of the casino. Of course. Of course he can’t fucking die. Goro turns back around to Joker dusting off his own clothes and cleaning the black blood from his forehead with his gloves. It seeps into the red leather and disappears without a single smudge. Just like the damned bullet wound between his eyes.

“Told you it wouldn’t stick.” Joker says.

***

Goro shoots the guard, knowing the man is probably a fake. Joker and his little band of merry men wouldn’t let an innocent guard die to their ridiculous game of one-upmanship. He can die, while Joker can’t. Just another thing the infuriating smirk currently on his face holds over Goro.

“Well. Here we are.” He pulls the seat out from opposite Akira and slides into place. Before, when he hadn’t known that his rival is a literal unkillable demon, this whole thing would have gone differently. “I have to assume you’re a fake. We’re probably still in Sae-san’s Palace, aren’t we?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Akechi?” Asks Akira, looking a little worse for wear where his interrogators have gotten more than a little carried away. There are needles on the floor.

He slides the gun across the table. One snatched from the guard before he'd even had a chance to react. “Do it.” Goro says, matching Akira’s sly fucking grin.

***

They meet up again in Shido’s Palace. Just the two of them, no Thieves to get in the way of the dynamic that they’d built up over the last few months. Joker slings an arm over his shoulder— Goro punches him in the ribs and throws him to the deck floor. The white of his clothes shivers for a moment, giving way to the striped black and purple until Joker kicks him in the legs and takes his knees out from underneath him. There’s a snarl on his face and a grin on his lips as Goro goes down. Everything is a blur of fists and feet after that. Goro catches glimpses of Joker’s shape shifting pointy teeth and glittering eyes in amongst the flashes of black and red— both their attacks hailing down on each other with no holds barred.

It only ends when Goro drives Joker’s own knife through his throat. Blood pools around him slowly. It trickles through the grooves of the stonework. Goro sits down, righting himself in his own head until the shimmering of his clothes turns white again. When Joker sits up, he tugs the knife free and gurgles something at Goro. The slowly healing slice in his throat makes it hard to speak. He tries again. A pale pink foam flecks his lips and his shoulders shake as he laughs at the absurdity of it. They wait in companionable silence until his neck is healed.

“I had an idea, Crow.” He says, once his voice stops whistling. “We’ll make it a game. The two of us will hunt down your cognition. First to catch him gets to do whatever they want to the loser.”

Goro doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the idea. “You have a deal Joker.”

Neither of them bother counting down. It would be a waste of time and breath. Instead, they're both dashing through the ship corridors and through vent shafts and among throngs of people. Hunting, searching. Goro knows the ship well enough, knows the shortcuts to the engine room, and has a good idea where his cognitive self usually hangs out. There’s always a chance that he’s in the dining hall, flirting with the higher ups. Goro takes the chance. He’s inching forwards inside a vent when he sees the other Akechi— the metal grates underneath him give way with a well placed kick. The clanging echoes around the desolate halls, almost surely alerting Joker to his location if he’s anywhere nearby, but he’s on top of the cognition before he has any chance to react.

The cognitive Akechi makes an aborted snarl, hand going for the gun hidden inside his jacket. Goro is faster. The element of surprise is a powerful tool. His glowing saber cuts halfway through Akechi’s arm, the one reaching for the gun, and the smell of burning flesh fills the air. It’s a smell Goro has become intimately familiar with over the last few weeks. Akira’s body tightens in indescribable ways when he holds a strong flame against his skin. His hands, his inner thighs, the soles of his feet. Goro’s only regret is that the wounds never scar. Not even the one where he shot him for the first time. A manic, wicked grin stretches across his face as the cognition leaps backwards. Killing him isn’t the goal. Either of them could claim that they’d killed the cognition and that he’d reformed— they wouldn’t, it’s against the spirit of the competition, but the potential is there. Instead, Goro takes another swipe at him. He’s clutching his wounded arm, already caught on the ropes, desperately dodging Goro’s wild attacks as Goro laughs and laughs and laughs—

One swipe catches him in the leg, another on his shoulder. The cognition goes to his knees. He snarls some cutting remark but Goro can’t hear him over the pounding beat of his heart in his ears. Joker is standing a little way away from him, perched primly on a set of metal stairs, with a smirk on his lips. Goro doesn’t know when he arrived but the smell of singed flesh and blood is going straight to Goro’s cock. He knows it’s probably doing the same thing to Joker. The white slacks are unacceptably tight.

“Looks like I won, Joker.” He says, finishing off their toy with a quick flick of his wrist.

Joker doesn’t look broken up about his loss at all. In fact, he couldn’t look any more smug. He reclines back against the stairs. “Come and take your prize then.”

Goro is on him in a second. He’s sure the metal lip of the stairs is pressing uncomfortably into Joker’s back, but the thought is banished as he bites down on Joker’s lower lip and crushes their mouths together. One of his hands tightens in a fist in Joker’s hair while the other grips the lapels of his coat. This isn’t an ideal place for being granted permission to do anything— anything at all— but he’ll take it this time. He slides Joker’s knife from it’s holster. The brilliant edge cuts through his clothes and skin like butter, leaving behind a beautiful red line across his torso. One of Joker’s strangest quirks is that his blood isn’t always red. Sometimes it’s black. He told Goro once it depends on how human he feels.

He feels human enough to Goro’s touch, warm through the butter soft white gloves on his hands. The red trickling through the slice on his abdomen stains his fingers and palm the same bright colour. Goro tears his gloves off with his teeth, parting from Joker's lips just long enough to throw them over his shoulder, before returning to attack with more biting kisses. His blunt nails dig into Akira’s skin, leaving pale tracks as he pulls them down his body. Akira hisses with pleasure. Underneath Goro, his back arches in a beautiful curve that presses him ever closer to Goro’s own body. Goro’s now bared hands snatch at Akira’s shoulders, pulling him away from the stairs until they’re backing down the echoing hallway together.

“Where do you want me?” Joker asks, slipping his hands underneath Goro’s neatly pressed jacket to shuck it up around his armpits. For the loser of their little game he seems to expect to come out on top. The thought makes Goro chuckle and move back from Joker’s questing fingertips.

There’s a thousand places on the ship he can take Joker. He could push him to the floor where they stand or drag him in front of the crowds of sneering guests, but he wants something more intimate. Like the time he cut out Joker’s tongue and ate it.

“Let’s find a room.”

They walk in silence out of the belly of the ship, hands and fingers brushing against each other idly in the companionable silence. Goro wonders what the guests would think if they were real people. He can already hear the scandalized whispers at Joker’s swollen, bitten lips and his unashamed parading about with his shirt sliced open. The cut across his torso has healed already, the only memento of it left is the blood on Goro’s hand. He fully intends to make the next wound he inflicts on Joker stick around for a little longer. One day, he wonders, perhaps they’ll go too far. They’ll push Joker’s body too much. Perhaps they’ll push him over the brink of death instead of too close to the edge and he won’t wake. The idea of finally,  _ finally  _ being the one to put Joker down makes Goro’s steps speed up. His cock has been pressed hard against his fly for too long. The urge to shove it into Joker’s body is getting to him. When they reach the sleeping quarters of the ship, Goro pushes him into the first room that he finds unlocked. The door slams behind them and Goro whirls around to face Joker with a manic, Cheshire grin— one matched by his rival. With one hand he flicks the lock. Joker backs against the plush bed until his knees hit it, each step in time with Goro’s, before letting himself sink into the downy sheets.

Goro can’t wait to see them drenched. Drenched in red, red, red— the colour of Joker’s gloves, of Goro’s eyes.

Joker’s dagger has returned to him, all their weapons do after a while, even if they’ve been lost, so Goro unsheathes it and runs the glimmering flat of the blade across Joker’s bare skin. The slightest knick of it against him is barely a tease, only prompting a quiet moan from the man below him. Goro shoves him further back up the bed so that he can straddle his waist properly. He can feel the desperate press of Joker’s erection against the seam of his ass, but that’s not what he wants today.

He wants something else, something closer, something more.

Since he first realized that Akira was  _ Joker,  _ Goro has wanted to possess him. His body and mind and soul. He wants to be the only thing on Joker’s mind, the way Joker is the only thing on his own.

The point of the knife looks lovely pressed against the little dip underneath Joker’s rib cage. Goro admires it for a moment, both their skin bare and lit by the shine off of the blade. He has to fish himself out of his pants. The tension is almost too much to bear. If he grinds down too much and loses himself then there wouldn’t be any point to it in the first place. Joker licks his lips at the sight of Goro’s plummy cock. Not the plan tonight either, but an idea blossoms in the back of Goro’s mind for the future.

Joker’s knife slips into his skin like it’s cutting butter. Goro doesn’t press too hard. He doesn’t want to rupture anything, just pull apart the pale flesh underneath him. Joker makes a sound halfway between a grunt of pain and a moan. His fingers are fisted in the sheets, clutching them to himself like a lifeline. Like they’ll stop the eager shake to his fingers. Goro’s hand is much steadier. The knife trails down, down down. There’s so much blood already. Joker’s voice pitches upwards at the pleasure-pain. Goro can feel his legs convulsing and jerking. He’s described it before, the feeling of encroaching death like the most powerful orgasm. Goro’s not done yet, though, and he pushes his thumbs into the tear in Joker’s skin and pulls until the sopping ropes of Joker’s organs push themselves free. There’s another cry below him, tears beading in the corners of Joker’s eyes as Goro pushes his hand into the unbelievable heat below him.

“You’re disgusting.” He says, watching Joker’s eyes roll up in pleasure. Goro lets his hand move through Goro’s stomach until he meets the wall of muscle and tendon that makes up Joker’s diaphragm. “But you were designed to be below me, weren’t you?”

There aren’t exactly nerve endings in Joker’s organs, so Goro wastes no time slipping the bloodied knife between the wet folds and against the spot he’d chosen just underneath Joker’s lungs. The diaphragm slices open easily and Joker’s next breath sounds particularly strangled and wheezing. Delicious. His eyes are unfocused, staring somewhere into the middle distance of the ceiling, and his body has been reduced to pathetic shivers. Goro shucks his pants off desperately, the sight of Akira literally draining away in front of him almost unbearable. Everything is slightly squishy between his legs. He sinks into Joker’s torn open cavity and gently guides his cock against the slit he’d made. It’s not like a diaphragm is tight, but that feeling of being squeezed vice-like by Joker’s body isn’t the one he’s chasing. It’s the bliss of watching Joker’s eyes grow dim, his breath rattling, body coming apart at the seams underneath him—

Goro thrusts into Joker, coming unraveled far faster than he intended when he realizes that his thrusting is literally pushing air into Joker’s lungs and forcing him to breathe—

He’s the very air that fills Joker—

Joker’s body is wrapped around him, getting cold exposed to the air—

Goro cums with a shout, hands wrapped tight on Joker’s shoulders to pull him down to meet his thrusts. The other man must have died somewhere around the initial penetration and when Goro glances down Joker’s body, there’s a wet stain around his crotch that’s decidedly not blood. He throws himself to the side, letting his post orgasm glow fill every inch of him. It’s almost rude how beautiful Joker is with his body sliced open and his organs strewn haphazardly on the sheets. The minutes tick by. The oozing red slowly becomes black under Goro’s watchful eyes. 

Joker sits up with a gasp.

The hole in his chest is still stitching itself back together while the sharp light returns to Joker’s eyes. It’s something that Goro adores, both being able to watch it fade and watch it return. Maybe next time he’ll pluck one of them out.

“Have fun?” Joker asks with a devilish smirk, fingers trailing over the perfect edge of the slice.

“Always. There’s a cognitive me downstairs if you want a turn.”

Joker purrs. “ _ That _ sounds like a challenge.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might explain this in a sequel or something but Akira is the same kind of elder god as Nyarly and Igor and co— he’s playing some kind of metaphysical cognitive chess game with Yaldabaoth in this AU. He just keeps getting distracted by Goro’s...Goro-ness.


End file.
